


Love is Not Always Neat, But Sometimes It Is

by BlossomTime



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Body Hair, Fame, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Safer Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Size Difference, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9851078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomTime/pseuds/BlossomTime
Summary: Johnny LaRue thought fame was the only thing people could love about him. He was wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> E in the 5 Neat Guys was played by Eugene Levy. In real life, he isn't that much shorter than John Candy. There is SO MUCH smoking in the show, which is why it's in the story, but don't smoke, kids! This is for [Miso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/), my companion on this runaway luge to SCTV fanfic hell. Join us, won't you?

Johnny LaRue had never been kind to his body. He'd spent years hustling, working any spot he could on any stage that would let him on, no matter how late. Once he'd gotten some success, he would spend the hours any sane person would spend sleeping punching up scripts and putting together show pitches. Now he was directing, producing, managing restaurants and scheduling time to shoot commercials for the millions of chintzy products he had leant his name and reputation to.

Now, he'd take a downer with a glass or two of scotch to just come down a bit so he could sleep for four or five hours. He cleared away the cobwebs in the morning with cup after cup of sludgy coffee. Speed if that didn't cut it. When he needed to really shine, a line or two. Every other minute of the day was fueled by pack after pack of cigarettes, and not the low-tar kind, either. 

He'd eat whatever was available, whenever he had a few minutes between meetings or filming. Something fried, something fatty, something salty, washed down with scotch that got more expensive the more successful he became, maybe with soda if he had to stay clear-headed. 

His body wasn't the important part of him. The only important part was his name. His name in lights. His initials embroidered on robes and velvet smoking jackets. His name on the lips of the most influential people in show business. 

That's why he couldn't figure out why a shrimp of a guy, some past-his-prime nobody, kept finding him backstage. He didn't want him to look at a script. He didn't want his connections. He didn't want him to put his name on a project or a product. 

He dressed like a real nerd. He had thick square black-rimmed glasses, black polyester permanent press slacks, a clip-on bow tie, and a V neck sweater with a big letter E on it. 

"Your name Eddie or something?" he asked, crew streaming past them. 

"Beg your pardon?" The guy's smile was still broad and open, even as Johnny blew cigarette smoke in his face. 

"The E," he pointed, "What's that for?" 

"Oh! I guess I look pretty funny without the other four, huh? I'm one of the 5 Neat Guys. We're shooting a commercial for our album of greatest hits." 

LaRue walked away before he finished speaking. 

* * *

The next time he saw not-Eddie it was at one of the parties that seemed to coagulate around Maudlin after a show taping. Not-Eddie stood, back and bow tie straight, without a molecule of cool in his body. He was near the piano, tapping his foot and nodding his head like he was listening to Lawrence Welk instead of jazz. Not-Eddie caught his eye from across the room and gave him some sort of two-fingered salute. Johnny pretended not to have seen him and kept telling Lola Heatherton about his last live show. She threw her head back and screeched with laughter.

* * *

Johnny had spent an entirely unreasonable amount of time in a tiny dark room with Gerry Todd re-doing the credits sequences for his Christmas special. Gerry's body language and inflection hadn't budged in the slightest as the hours ticked by, even when Johnny yelled at him. That guy was entirely too mellow. Johnny fled eagerly to the hallway the second they were finished.

Not-Eddie was lingering by the door of the edit bay. Johnny could swear he never saw the other Neat Guys around the station. Why was this one following him around like a bad penny? Not-Eddie seemed to perk up when he noticed Johnny. "Hi! How are you?" 

"Ugh. I'm exhausted." Johnny pushed a hand through his shaggy hair. 

"Coke?" not-Eddie offered. Johnny's eyes snapped up. 

"Jesus, yes." He scanned the hallway as not-Eddie led him around a corner. Not that anyone at the station would be surprised that he used the occasional chemical assist to get through an 18 hour workday. 

Then not-Eddie started dropping nickels into the soda machine. 

Oh. 

Not-Eddie popped the cap off a bottle and it handed to him. He clinked his own bottle on Johnny's in a silent toast, grinned, and drank. 

"A refreshing soda pop," he said, finally, "is about as neat as it gets. And I know neat. I'm a Neat Guy, after all!" 

"Yeah, pretty neat, all right," Johnny agreed, trying not to sound disappointed, and took a swig. 

"You know, you're a real handsome man, Mr. LaRue." Not-Eddie was smiling again, peering at him through those thick glasses. 

"What?" Johnny nearly dropped his Coke. 

Not-Eddie drifted into Johnny's personal space and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Mmmm hm. You're so _broad_ , I love it." 

Johnny will always blame being caught off guard for what happened. But really, this guy was the first person in an awfully long time to compliment his body, a body that took a back seat to his ambition. So he leaned into a kiss, a kiss that wasn't soaked in liquor or cigarettes, a kiss that tasted of nothing more than a sweet fizzy soda. 

Neat. 

* * *

Not-Eddie's name turned out to be Anton. Anton Wesson. "No relation to the cooking oil!" he'd joked.

As much as Johnny could pretend that the kiss was on impulse, sex was another story entirely. Before they got close to going to bed together, while they were still _fully clothed_ and eating prime rib at the 3D House of Beef, Anton brought up sex. More specifically, he cheerfully brought up using condoms for penetration. "I'm fine without for oral, as long as you don't come in my mouth. It's a safety trade-off, but oral's really my thing!" 

Johnny tried to play it cool, but Anton noticed his discomfort. "Sex is pretty neat," he'd said, patting Johnny's hand, "but safer sex doesn't just happen out of nowhere, you know. Like the Scouts say, be prepared!" 

Johnny's idea of safety was significantly less well-formed than Anton's. Not while operating heavy machinery. No open flames. Think twice about improvised lubes. Sex, for Johnny, had always been on the spur of the moment, unplanned, with a minimum of discussion. He was resigned to the fact that he was always going to be somebody's hung-over morning walk of shame. So he agreed to everything Anton suggested and hoped that he just assumed they were incredibly compatible. He was on a runaway luge into the unknown with a surprisingly sex-literate little nerd. He mentally corrected himself: surprisingly sex-literate neat guy. 

* * *

Anton sighed in pleasure as he peeled layers of clothes from Johnny, sliding warm hands over every inch of skin as it was bared. Anton's intense focus on his body ( _with the lights on_ Johnny thought with a note of panic) made Johnny feel giddy. He was still afraid Anton would somehow come to his senses and pull away from him, disgusted. But he seemed to enjoy every bit of him, stroking his cheek along Johnny's fuzzy blonde chest hair, pressing his hands to Johnny's back to pull him closer, trailing his fingers down Johnny's arms as he kissed him. Even as Johnny undressed him, he couldn't stop looking, hungrily.

Anton was gorgeous under all that polyester. Long-limbed and lithe with a softness from age, covered in thick dark hair that Johnny gloried in running his hands through. Behind those formidable lenses, his eyes were a dark syrup brown, eyes he could look into for hours. He didn't, because he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting closed as he pushed his tongue into that beautiful mouth. Anton moaned into his kiss and wound his arms around Johnny, pulling him over on top of him. 

Johnny pulled back. "Baby, no, I don't want to crush you." Anton tipped his head and crooked his lips into a half smile. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you couldn't. I want to _feel_ you, all of you." Johnny still looked hesitant. Anton pressed a gentle kiss to Johnny's forehead. "I promise I'll tell you if anything's too much. Come here," he pulled Johnny down again and kissed him deeply. Johnny reluctantly eased his weight off his palms on either side of Anton and felt the soft heat of his body press into him. Anton let out a lust-soaked groan and dug his fingertips into Johnny's shoulders. Johnny stroked his hands through Anton's thick head of hair and marveled at this man who actually seemed to be enjoying him, judging by the growing hardness he felt pressing at his own erection. 

Johnny kissed along Anton's jaw, which seemed to be growing the shadow of a beard even in the hour since their dinner. Anton whispered in his ear, his breath a hot tickle, his words bringing even more heat. "I love your broad shoulders. I adore your pretty blond curls, I just want to run my fingers through them for hours. I've always wanted to be with a man so tall I had to reach up to kiss him. You're just... so _big_." This last word was a breathy moan, Anton shivering just a little as he said it. 

Johnny felt the word twist inside his heart just a bit. He didn't know what to do with this adoration. It made him feel flustered, like he had to correct Anton, tell him how wrong he was. He looked at his open face helplessly. The only thing he could think to do, what he always did when he felt inadequate, was work harder than everyone else. He moved his face down Anton's chest, nosed into the thick black hair and pulled a dark pebbled nipple into his mouth. He licked and pressed and grazed it gently with his teeth. He sucked and tugged and felt Anton let out a shaky breath as he arched into his touch. Johnny reached down between the other man's legs and stroked through thick pubes to cup his balls and stroke a finger up across his perineum. Anton slid his legs apart, inviting Johnny's touches. 

Johnny moved to the other nipple and continued his attentions. Anton was nearly gasping for breath now. Johnny moved his hand up. Anton's cock was hot, heavy, and hard. It was also-- quite noticeably-- impressively thick. He wrapped his hand around the girth of it and started a long, slow stroke. "Wait," Anton whimpered. Johnny pulled away, sure this was where everything would come to a crashing halt. "I don't want to come before I suck your dick." Anton's eyes were midnight-dark now, wide and liquid. He put his hands on Johnny's shoulders and pushed him up until he was sitting, leaning on the pile of pillows at the headboard. His breath caught as he looked at Johnny's cock, hard enough now that it moved slightly with his heartbeat. The head was dark, shining and slick with pre-come. "Oh, you're _gorgeous_ ," Anton moaned, his voice deep in his chest. 

"I'm sorry, I know I'm just average, you probably wanted bigger..." Johnny trailed off. Anton looked up at him, his smile just a little sad at this apology. 

"No, I won't hear it. You're just..." his voice hitched, "just _perfect_." Anton kneeled between Johnny's legs, wrapping his arms under his thighs so they rested over his shoulders. He licked a long, slow stripe up the length of Johnny's cock, his eyes locked on Johnny's. His tongue disappeared into his mouth after it swiped through the clear drops beading rapidly at the tip. He let his lower lip drag a bit at the head. He wrapped a hand around the base and kissed at the slit and then pushed his mouth over and down, enveloping Johnny in hot suction and nearly whiting out his vision as he fell back onto the headboard with a soft thump. 

The pleasure was searing. Sweat beaded on Johnny's skin. He felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't get enough oxygen. He gripped the sheets in tight fists. The sight of Anton's dark head bobbing between his legs shorted out his brain. All he was, all that was in the world was the knot of hot pleasure building inside him. Anton sucked and slurped and drooled down the length of him, giving the most extravagant blow job Johnny could imagine. How was he the person who deserved this? 

Johnny whimpered, well past words. Anton's hand tightened around him, almost too much and still absolutely perfect. He felt his balls draw up and only just managed to tap Anton's shoulder urgently. Anton pulled off just as Johnny keened and loosed a spatter of hot come on his chest. It beaded up in the thick hair like a fistful of pearls scattered on black velvet. 

In the long minutes before reality could re-assemble around Johnny, he could only sense disconnected moments in time. Anton moving up next to him. Wrapping an arm around his middle, resting his head on a shoulder. Anton speaking, softly, his words sweet. A glass of water in his hand, a sudden cool anchor to focus on. Drinking. Feeling like he had never loved water so much. 

Then everything clicked into place, enough that he was back in himself. In a rush of adrenaline he was suddenly afraid he'd fucked up, that Anton would realize he'd made a mistake. But before he could speak, Anton took the glass, leaned in and kissed him, opened him up with his lips and tongue. The fear slid out of Johnny's thoughts. Anton pulled back and looked at him kindly. "Feeling better?" 

Johnny just nodded, still dazed. 

Anton reached across him and grabbed a bottle of lube and poured a generous slick of it over his cock. He guided Johnny's hand to stroke him and then pulled him back into a slow, soft kiss, his arms sliding to hold him close. Johnny loved the feel of him, lube beading up between his fingers. He realized he'd never felt so... comfortable, so at home in his own skin when he'd been with someone. He almost felt like he was floating, lost in this endless kiss. He felt Anton responding to his touch, his breath stuttering, his skin warming. He felt the tension build and crest and break, and Anton spilled warm in his hand with a soft cry. 

Later, with Anton asleep in his arms, Johnny stared at the dark. He felt the edges of some kind of change in his mind. Maybe he'd been wrong, wrong about what was good about Johnny LaRue. Why anyone might love him. Sure, it was pretty early to think about love with Anton. But if he could see something in Johnny, maybe that something might really be there. 

Maybe Johnny LaRue was a neat guy, too.


End file.
